


The kids are alright

by sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Autism, Autistic Character, Drabble, Gen, I can't fucking name things, Penny as ever is a little bit of a dick, all my fics are named after songs, may or may not be a one shot, penny/Q being sort of buddies, seriously how are there no autistic Q fanics on here guys are you kidding me, timeline for this is..........Somewhere in the first season???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 02:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10504359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands/pseuds/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands
Summary: "All Penny wants is somewhere he can sit, and smoke in private without being bombarded with fucking freshmen trying to be friendly. So, naturally when he finds it it only takes a month for him to find Quentin there. Because apparently all good things in his life must be eventually tarnished by Quentin fucking Coldwater."Alternatively called "my obligatory autistic Quentin Coldwater fic."





	

Quentin Coldwater is seventeen the first time he hears the words “autism spectrum disorder.”  
Well, okay, obviously he’d heard the words before, but always as something distant, abstract. An interesting quirk of nature that had absolutely nothing to do with him, aside from a passing interest in psychology. But, there he was, sitting across from his newly appointed therapist in her sterile office in the psych ward that had been his home for the last three weeks numbly listening to her telling him he’s autistic. 

At the time, Quentin was too overwhelmed to really react, and then too focused on getting out of the fucking psych ward and getting his life back on track. By the time he get’s to Brakebills he’s spent the last three years doing everything he can to reclaim his title of “prodigy.” A title which definetly does not include “autism” or “depression.”  
Not that is matters now, of course, obviously his therapist was wrong. He’s not autistic, he’s just a magician. Of course he’s always felt awkward and out of place, he’s always been out of place! It’s an understandable mistake it have made but, that’s all it was, a mistake. Now he knows he’s a magician everything will fall into place!

It doesn’t. 

Pretty soon Quentin’s back to hiding in his room during parties and awkwardly stumbling through social situations. Sure, the fact he’s finally around people who understand parts of him no one ever has before helps. The fact Eliot’s adopted him into the physical kids clique helps too, but even so, it quickly becomes unavoidably obvious his quirks are not entirely explained by being a magician.

It’s easy to slip back into the role of “totally normally functioning human being,” after all he’s been playing it his whole life. Maybe he’ll tell the others eventually, or, at least Alice; or maybe they’ll figure it out themselves. Who knows? Neither of those eventualities would surprise Quentin, the fact that it’s fucking _Penny_ who finds out, that manages to surprise him.

 

 

 

All Penny wants is somewhere he can sit, and smoke in private without being bombarded with fucking freshmen trying to be friendly. So, naturally when he finds it it only takes a month for him to find Quentin there. Because apparently all good things in his life must be eventually tarnished by Quentin fucking Coldwater. 

The place in question is little clearing buried deep inside the maze. It’s home to one of the many, many fountains on the Brakebills campus. Although this one is significantly smaller than most, it’s also significantly more shit. The actual “pond” has a roughly five meter radius, is full of greenish water and is encircled by a low brick wall. The statue is of a lion. At least, Penny thinks the misshapen chunk of rock is meant to look like a lion, if lions looked like stone monstrosities carved by five year olds. Anyway the statue is roughly in the shape of a lion, the lion’s roaring, a slightly pathetic plume of water gushes halfheartedly from it’s mouth into the scummy water below.  
It’s not exactly nice, it is, however one of the few places on campus that’s almost guaranteed to be empty, whether that’s because it’s objectively a pretty shitty place to hang out or because the maze actively avoids letting people in Penny doesn’t know. What he does know is that every time he tries to get here he ends up taking a different path, no matter how well mapped out he thinks he’s got the route, he always gets turned around. He always finds his way back here anyway. 

Today, however it is not empty, because Q is sitting, or more accurately perching, on the little wooden bench in front of the wall, book in hand. Normally Penny’s first instinct would be to march straight over there and tell Quentin to fuck off and find his own damn fountain, instead he stops short and stares dumbly at him. Quentin’s rocking, gently back and forth, a gesture which would usually lead Penny to assume someone was having a fucking breakdown or something. Which, honestly given it’s Q wouldn’t even surprise him that much. Except, his attention is clearly fixed on the book he’s reading (Penny would bet real money it’s a fucking Fillory book) and the only thing Penny’s getting from him is calm, and, the occasional bubble of amusement as he reads. None of it quite computes so Penny just stands there, in the entrance to the clearing staring at him as if that’ll make this make sense. As if anything about Q really makes sense. 

Scowling, Penny closes the distance between them in several long, loping strides and deftly tugs the book out of Quentin’s grip (and yup, Fillory and Further, book 3, shocker.) Quentin, for his part yelps and recoils smacking his shoulders into the back of the bench. It looks painful. Penny almost feels bad about that. Almost.

“What the fuck?!” Quentin shouts, his voice a little higher than normal.  
“What the hell are you doing?” Penny asks, might as well cut to the chase.  
Quentin stares at him, “what am _I_ doing?” 

Penny shifts his weight back in his heels and blinks expectantly at Q who stares indignantly at him for a second before his expression shifts.

“Well,” Q says, folding his arms and sitting up again, “I _was_ reading.”  
“Don’t be a smart ass,” Penny says, curling his lip in irritation.  
“Give me my book back.”  
“What’s _wrong_ with you?” Penny says, stepping closer and leaning over Quentin, who, to his credit doesn’t shift. “Are you having a fucking break down or something?”  
“You know I’m not,” Quentin stands suddenly, forcing Penny to take a step back to avoid getting head butted. “You are psychic after all.”  
“Man even _I_ don't know what's going on inside your head.”  
“Give me my book back, Penny,” Quentin says flatly, he drops his shoulders as he talks tilting his head to the side. The physical embodiment of the phrase “done with your shit.”  
“Answer my question first,” Penny folds his arms across his chest and scowls at Q.

Quentin sighs, a controlled, long suffering huff, he combs his fingers roughly though his hair and lunges at Penny, reaching for the book. Penny jumps backward, pulling the book out of Quentin’s reach. 

“You want it?” He grins, dangling the book in front of Quentin.  
“Oh, really, what are you, _twelve_?” Q squares his shoulders and folds his arms, glaring daggers at Penny. 

He’s pissed. Penny can feel it, not that you’d need to be a psychic to tell that, he is somewhat surprised by the intensity of it though. 

_Maybe I misjudged how hard I could push…_

“Just answer the question,” Penny shifts, making his voice and stance less overtly threatening.  
“Why do you even care?” Quentin asks.

Penny freezes, why _does_ he care? 

_Because I can never figure you out._

_Because your head is fucking weird._

_Because I don’t like things I don’t understand._

The last one should at least be understandable, there’s some of that in all of them. That need to grab on all the loose threads in the world and tug, and tug, and tug until it unravels around you, that desire to _figure things out_ , it’s why they’re here. It’s what makes them magicians. 

“You’re weird,” Penny says, instead. “It bugs me.”  
Quentin rolls his eyes, “oh yeah, that _really_ makes me want to tell you.”

They stand there for a moment watching each other before Quentin huffs.

“You know what, fine, fine!” He throws his arms out dramatically. His tone and stance say “irritation” and “I’m only telling you this so you’ll shut up,” the effect is somewhat undermined by the fact Penny can feel he’s petrified. 

“I’m autistic.” Quentin says. “There, are you happy now? Can I have my fucking book back now?”  
“Oh.” Penny blinks, “man that explains a lot.”  
“Oh for fuck sake,” Quentin grabs the book out of Penny’s hands, “you lost my fucking page.” Q mutters, irately flipping though chapters.  
Penny watches him quietly. It does explain a lot, he’s actually somewhat pissed he didn’t figure that one out. “What was with the rocking?”  
“What?” Q says, distractedly.  
“Oh, right,” he says, before Penny can repeat the question. “It’s, you know…” He makes a vague hand gesture and trails off.  
_“No?!”_  
Quentin sighs, he’s still staring intently at the book, but Penny’s pretty sure he’s just using it as an excuse not to have to look at him.  
“Repetitive movements are an autistic trait, they-“  
“Yeah, yeah, stimming, I know,” Penny cuts him off.  
“You _do?”_  
_“What?”_ Penny snaps, “I know things?”  
Quentin squints at him suspiciously for a second before saying, “if you know what it is, why did you ask?”  
Penny frowns, “it’s what autistics do when they’re freaking out, isn’t it?”  
“Ohhhh,” Quentin says, “right, yeah, but, it’s also just…. Nice?”  
“huh…Okay.”

There’s a brief pause where Penny watches Q, who’s still flicking through his book, running his fingers over the pages.  
“Look, if you’re done playing twenty questions I’m gonna go now,” Q says.  
“Whatever,” Penny pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and fishes around for a lighter.

Quentin stops, a few feet from the entrance to the maze. “Hey,” he says, cautiously, “this isn’t gonna… Make things weird, is it.”

Penny pauses, mid light, “I’m not that much of dick, Quentin.”  
“Okay,” Q says, quietly. 

Penny stands, listening to Q’s footsteps being swallowed by the maze for a second before he throws himself on to the bench, seriously wishing he’d brought the bottle of Jack’s sitting on his bedside table with him.


End file.
